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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541256">now far ahead the Road has gone</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat'>blackkat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>came singing in the sun [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover, Developing Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:53:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,142</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Caught between new allies and the specters of older wars, Éomer tries to navigate emotions he would far rather have left buried.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Éomer Éadig &amp; Éowyn, Éomer Éadig/CT-7567 | Rex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>came singing in the sun [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>433</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Star Wars Alternate Universes</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>now far ahead the Road has gone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't normally do this, but in the name of keeping things understandable for those who haven't drowned themselves in all the minutiae of Tolkien's world-building, I thought I'd toss some clarifications up here. </p><p>+The Valar are roughly equivalent to demigods, spirits who helped shape the world. There are fourteen main Valar, all of whom have certain aspects they hold sway over.<br/>+ Oromë is the Huntsman of the Valar, who the Rohirrim also call Béma.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The captain swings down from Firefoot, takes one step, and almost falls over.</p><p>Éomer catches him by his pauldron, not entirely surprised but a little amused, and steadies him as he gets his walking legs back. Firefoot stirs faintly, turning his head to cast a look back, and Éomer chuckles and strokes his neck, rubbing his thumb against one of the silvery dapples.</p><p>“One more easily offended might take such a reaction as a slight against his horse,” Éomer says, trying not to smile. “I assure you, you will never meet a mount with a smoother gait than Firefoot.”</p><p>Through the bulky white helmet, he can't see the look that Rex gives him, but the man bristles like a cat. Or like an offended Elf, perhaps, though Éomer has only seen one Elf react like that. Legolas was certainly offended enough to count, however, even if it was over a Dwarf.</p><p>“I’d like to see you jump off a marathon on an AT-RT and still be able to stand up straight,” Rex says, and Éomer snorts, giving Firefoot one last stroke and then swinging off himself. As he does, there's a yelp, and bright laughter, and one of the other Republic soldiers hits the ground flat on his face before Éowyn can catch him. She instantly slides down from her saddle, crouching to help him up as she apologizes, and Éomer ducks his head to hide his grin.</p><p>“Fives,” Rex says, a breath of resignation that makes it almost impossible not to laugh. Éomer contains himself, though, and watches as the third trooper slides off Grimborn’s horse, staggers, and sits down hard, rubbing his thigh. Sore muscles, likely, if they're unused to horses, and Éomer can hardly fathom such a thing, but—</p><p>Well. There's a reason Ennorath keeps its own council, and participates in Republic matters only rarely.</p><p>“We camp here for the night, and make for Edoras at first light,” Éomer says, and casts a gaze over the handful of men who stayed with him. Most of the rest were dispatched to find the Republic company and guide them safely through the mountains, and to meet with the Jedi. The remaining handful will follow the Orcs back towards their crossing point, and hopefully reinforce it well enough that the creatures won't come back.</p><p>“Edoras?” Rex asks, and after a wary moment he reaches up, pulling his helmet off and tucking it under his arm. A handsome man, Éomer thinks, though he likely shouldn’t—this Republic army is still an unknown, and a civil war often has understandable sentiments on either side. The fact that the Jedi fight with the Republic eases Éomer’s mind slightly, but not enough.</p><p>“You are in Rohan, the kingdom of the Rohirrim,” Éomer says, because their pace was too quick to allow for talk while they rode. “Edoras is our capital. From the city, we may call the leaders of our planet, and summon our senators.”</p><p>Rex grimaces a little, taking a deliberate step back as Éomer leads Firefoot towards the picket Éowyn is setting. Windfola greets Firefoot with a quiet nicker, and Firefoot lips his mane in return while Éomer starts untacking him. The weight of Rex's gaze is simple enough to feel, but Éomer ignores it, meeting Éowyn’s eyes as she gently removes Windfola’s bridle. There’s trepidation in her face, a weary, set sort of tiredness, and Éomer wants to go to her, to take her arm, but he doesn’t. She’s strong, and she knows her own limits; if she needs his comfort, she’ll reach for it.</p><p>Neither of them wants another war, but it sounds as though one has found them regardless.</p><p>“All of our maps of Ennorath are outdated,” Rex says, halfway to an apology. “Even the Jedi weren’t sure where exactly we would be landing.”</p><p>“It has been centuries since the Jedi came to Ennorath,” Éowyn says quietly, and her eyes are still on Éomer, full of weight. Éomer thinks of finding her on the battlefield, as cold as death, the Witch-King dead beside her, and has to breathe out carefully. They survived one war. A civil war that rages across the galaxy is nothing they should be involved in. Not after all that was almost lost, and only just spared. “They helped defeat a great evil last time they were here, but much has changed in the ages since.”</p><p>“Not enough,” Éomer counters, and Éowyn frowns at him, but he doesn’t waver. “Dark beasts still hunt our lands, and the Valar have abandoned us—”</p><p>“They are <em>vanished</em>,” Éowyn says, before Éomer can go further. “The Valar would not abandon us by choice. Some do not like this world, but Béma would not leave us.”</p><p>Éomer pauses, closes his mouth. A familiar argument, and one they could take further, but—there is little point in it.</p><p>“Regardless,” he says more evenly, “only the Elves remember the last time the Jedi were seen on Ennorath. Not since the end of the New Sith Wars have they had cause to set foot here.”</p><p> Rex takes a few careful steps closer, and as Éomer settles Firefoot’s saddle on the grass out of stepping range, he offers his hand to the stallion. Firefoot, always personable, lips over his fingers, then nuzzles his palm, and Éomer watches a small smile break across Rex's face, something close to delighted. It makes him turn away to hide his own smile, and he pulls a brush from his saddlebag, busies himself with readying Firefoot’s halter. Where she’s crouched by her own saddlebags, Éowyn gives him a quick look that’s full of amusement, and Éomer pulls a face back at her, making her grin. When he tips his head at Fives, she rolls her eyes, and he snorts, rises.</p><p>“I don’t have any idea what you were talking about,” Rex says, though most of his attention is still on Firefoot. “What are the—Valor?”</p><p>“Valar,” Éomer corrects. “The Jedi told you little of our Force traditions?”</p><p>Rex casts him a sideways look, still wary, like he’s waiting for something. “My general’s not big on tradition,” he says. “And he’s…pretty new to being a Knight.”</p><p>Éomer frowns, because that’s no excuse for disregarding the facts where they will affect his men, but allows it to pass without comment. “Ennorath holds host to spirits within the Force, or it did. Fourteen spirits who helped shape our world, who then…” He pauses at the sight of Éowyn’s raised brow, pulls a face at her, and finishes, “They ceased to walk our world a thousand years ago.”</p><p>Éowyn’s amusement is a bright thing as she ducks around to Windfola’s other side, and Éomer rolls his eyes.</p><p>Rex looks amused, too, though he steps back to let Éomer start brushing out the saddle-marks. “Our company was diverted here at the last minute,” he says. “There wasn’t a lot of time for a full brief. General Kenobi is supposed to be following behind us, but we’re not sure where he and the 212<sup>th</sup> are supposed to be setting down, and we couldn’t raise any of your ports to find out where you wanted us.”</p><p>“Nowhere, most times,” Éomer says bluntly. “Ennorath has its own traditions and its own ways. We do not take kindly to visitors trying to reform us.”</p><p>“The horses kind of gave that away,” Rex says dryly, and Éomer snorts.</p><p>“A thousand years ago, a darkness almost took our world,” he says. “We closed our borders to rebuild, and found it suited us. Two years ago, another evil rose, and that has occupied all of our time since.”</p><p>There's a pause, startled, and Rex shifts closer. “An evil?” he asks, and there's alarm on his face. “Like—Dark Side evil?”</p><p>“Yes,” Éomer says quietly, and tangles his fingers in Firefoot’s mane. “One of the spirits fell long ago, and took many with him. He vanished along with the fourteen Valar, but his agents still fight in his name.”</p><p>“The greatest of them has been broken,” Éowyn says without looking up, though Éomer can see the top of her golden head bent against Windfola’s side. “Our war was won, though the losses were great.”</p><p>“My sister fought the greatest of Sauron’s servants,” Éomer says, and the fear of how he found her on the battlefield, the cold ache of sitting beside her in the Halls of Healing until she finally woke—both are still there, but he feels nothing but pride for what she managed. “She slew him on the battlefield when none had touched him in centuries.”</p><p>“<em>Éomer</em>,” Éowyn says, casting him a look, and Éomer raises a brow in return, unrepentant. She frowns, but Éomer refuses to be swayed.</p><p>“That why you're the senator?” Rex asks, and he sounds amused again.</p><p>“One of many,” Éomer says before Éowyn can answer.</p><p>“I am the Human senator,” Éowyn counters, firm, and the look she gives Éomer makes him grin. “Ennorath has three—one from each of the main races.”</p><p>“We will call them to Edoras,” Éomer says, when something flickers over Rex's face. “Elves and Dwarves and Men do not meet often, but—this gives us cause.” He leaves the brush sitting on top of his saddlebags, then retrieves Firefoot’s halter and sets him on the picket line to graze and leaves him be. Fives and the other trooper are sliding closer to Éowyn, but she seems more than happy to let them approach, so Éomer doesn’t remark on it, just steps back—</p><p>And almost misses his footing when the soldier pulls off his helmet, Fives a beat behind them, to reveal faces identical to the man beside him. Éowyn pauses as well, eyes widening, and her brush stills on Windfola’s back.</p><p>A little incredulous, Éomer looks between the three of them, marking how Rex looks older, the differences in hair color, the tattoo on Fives’s temple. “Brothers?” he asks, though that doesn’t feel entirely right.</p><p>Rex's smile is a little crooked. “<em>Vode</em>,” he says, and when Éomer frowns at him, uncomprehending, he tips one shoulder. “Like—brothers in arms, but closer. Family.”</p><p>That, at least, Éomer can understand, and he inclines his head. “Identical <em>vode</em>,” he says, testing.</p><p>“Clones,” Rex confirms, and he meets Éomer’s eyes with a touch of defiance, as if daring him to remark on it. “The GAR is made up of cloned soldiers from the planet Kamino. A Jedi commissioned us to serve the Republic, and the Senate activated us after the war began.”</p><p>The planet name is unfamiliar, but—</p><p>“You are free men?” Éowyn asks, and her tone makes Éomer glance over at her, to find his own sudden worry reflected on her face. “You chose this fight?”</p><p>“We’re made to fight,” Fives says. “We were trained for it from the moment we were decanted.”</p><p>That’s not an answer at all, and Éomer feels something settle heavy in the pit of his stomach. Sauron used conscripted armies, too.</p><p>“Better us than some kid from a backwater who’s never held a blaster before,” Rex says quietly. “We’ve got more of a chance, and the Seps are using droid armies. They don’t care about anything but taking more worlds.”</p><p>That is…troubling. Éomer digs his fingers into the leather of his belt, feeling the press of Gúthwinë against his thigh. Droid armies mean no need to worry about loss of life, either—their forces are easily replaceable. Though Éomer wonders if the Republic is all that much better in comparison, using armies of cloned men to fight instead of putting themselves on the front lines. Perhaps if they did so, this war would have run to negotiations long ago.</p><p>Éomer trades looks with Éowyn, sees her silent promise that they can discuss this fully when they're alone. Inclining his head faintly, he glances at Rex, sets the matter aside, and says, “You say there will be another company landing? What brings you to Ennorath after all these years?”</p><p>Rex grimaces. “The Seps. We’d be more than happy to leave you in peace, but General Grievous landed somewhere on this planet when he escaped our last campaign, and where he lands, droid armies tend to follow. We wanted to alert your people and hunt him down.”</p><p>War, then. Éomer closes his eyes, feeling cold. When the One Ring was destroyed and Sauron’s power broken, he had thought—</p><p>“Sorry,” Rex says quietly, and Éomer looks up into his grim gaze, finds himself caught by it.</p><p>“Unless you led this general here by your own hand, I find no fault in you,” he says. “And we take your warning with gratitude.”</p><p>Éowyn ducks beneath Windfola’s neck, holding out a hand as she approaches. Éomer takes it gladly, pulls her in to rest their foreheads together for a moment, and breathes in the warmth of her. The grip of her hand is desperately tight, and he wants to wrap his arms around her, hold her close, but he doesn’t.</p><p>“Another war,” he says quietly, and Éowyn’s smile is wan.</p><p>“Cold glory,” she murmurs in return, and Éomer sighs, but lifts his head.</p><p>“I hope you are prepared to see your husband three months before you would,” he tells her. “King Elessar will be needed. The Mark cannot stand alone.”</p><p>“They will come,” Éowyn soothes, cupping his cheek in one hand. “Greenwood and Lothlórien as well. Erebor has also promised to answer our call. We are not alone this time, Éomer.”</p><p>But they were. For years, Rohan was under Saruman’s hold, <em>Wormtongue</em>’s hold. Éomer had been banished with his most loyal men, Éowyn left behind in court with Grima’s poisoned shadow following her, and there will never be words for the terror Éomer felt in those years, or the ache of them.</p><p>Finding the Three Hunters on the plain, and then being found by Gandalf in turn, was a sunrise after a dark night, but still not enough to blot out the midnight that came before it.</p><p>Éomer presses his hand over hers, closing his eyes, and breathes. In, then out, careful and slow, and says quietly, “If Oromë still rides, I hope he finds our lands again.”</p><p>“He will,” Éowyn says, and between them she’s always found hope more easily, clung to it more fiercely. “Béma has always loved these lands best. One day he <em>will</em> return to them.”</p><p>Éomer can only hope so. The Valar shaped this world, gave it form, gave it substance. Without their touch, it’s fading, down across the ages. An Age of Men is welcome, but—not like this. Not at the expense of their world as a whole.</p><p>“Have faith, Éomer,” Éowyn says softly, giving him a smile before she pulls away. “I will set the watch.”</p><p>“The captain may share my bedding,” Éomer says, and when Éowyn’s expression shifts from gentle to knowing, he rolls his eyes at her. “See if anyone else is willing to lend equipment for his men, if you can spare the time between your laughter.”</p><p>“Laugh at my prince? I would never,” Éowyn denies, and Éomer snorts.</p><p>“But your brother?” he asks, knowing her far too well.</p><p>“Only when my brother earns that laughter,” Éowyn promises, though from the amusement in her face she’s absolutely sure he’s earned this.</p><p>“You’ve been laughing at me since we were children,” Éomer complains, and Éowyn laughs, leaning in to kiss his cheek.</p><p>“And you have earned it each time,” she says, and then turns, leaping up the shallow bank and heading for where the Grimborn has a handful of their hunters gathered. Éomer rolls his eyes at her retreating back, but he’s smiling faintly when he turns to Rex.</p><p>“Is it normal for a prince here to ride around the countryside?” Rex asks, and there's still that touch of wariness in him, as if he’s waiting for something that Éomer can't name.</p><p>“I am a Marshal of the Riddermark,” Éomer says plainly. “And moreover, our people are warriors, Captain. Our king is expected to lead the charge in battle. I would hardly do differently.”</p><p> Rex pauses, looking faintly awkward, and his hand curls tight over the blue markings on his helmet. “I—that wasn’t meant as an insult,” he says roughly. “Just—Grievous has been known to take hostages, from ruling families especially. If he gets his hands on you—”</p><p>“Then my sister will make a fine queen when Theoden King passes,” Éomer says, flat, and—the order of their birth decided who would be Theoden’s heir when Theordred was slain, but Éomer has thought more than once than Éowyn reigning in the Golden Hall would bring Rohan to an age unlike any other it has seen.</p><p>Rex hesitates for a long moment before his mouth tightens faintly. “Your people aren’t used to fighting droids,” he says. “You don’t have blasters, or any of the weapons you need to hold off the Separatist armies—”</p><p>Éomer snorts, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. “Ennorath has stood far worse than droids,” he says. “Underestimate us at your peril, Captain.”</p><p>“I'm not underestimating you, Prince Éomer—” Rex starts, turning to follow him, but Éomer pulls up short, and Rex crashes into him bodily, almost overbalancing them. Éomer catches him quickly, and Rex takes a startled step back, hissing out a breath that’s all pain as his balance wavers. Sore muscles, Éomer realizes belatedly, and keeps his hold, following Rex back another step as he gets his feet under him.</p><p>“Simply Éomer, on the trail,” he says, more softly. “You and your men are sore, Captain, and in need of a swim in the river. The cool water will help your muscles, and I was planning to bathe regardless. Let me show you.”</p><p>Rex huffs out a breath, reluctantly amused, and carefully eases upright. “That would…probably help,” he agrees, though he won't quite meet Éomer’s eyes, and the tips of his ears are red. “Thank you. And—I'm not underestimating you or your people. But the Separatists have conquered hundred of worlds and massacred or enslaved their citizens. I don’t want the same thing to happen here.”</p><p>Éomer grips his shoulder lightly. “In Edoras, we will call a council among the leaders of the races,” he says. “You will see the reason for our confidence then. Even with the Valar absent, we are not helpless.”</p><p>With a quiet snort, Rex smiles, and it’s crooked but still warm enough to hold all of Éomer’s attention. “I'm getting that impression,” he says, a little dry, and his gloved hand curls around Éomer’s elbow for just an instant before he lets go again.</p><p>Éomer smiles back, just a little, but—heartfelt. “We must continue to prove it, then,” he says, and goes to get soap and a washcloth from his saddlebags.</p><p>The spot where Rex's fingers gripped is still warm, and the heat of it doesn’t fade.</p>
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